


your possessiveness is alarming.

by beckhams



Series: football. — ideas. [3]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:07:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24722791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beckhams/pseuds/beckhams
Summary: he jumps on you, wrapping his long skinny legs around your waist and curling his boyish arms around your neck. he presses his face into your shoulder and you grab him by the thighs to keep him up, you can feel his smile against your skin. celebrating, that's all you are doing, because you can't let it be anything else, you can't take him from stevie, it wouldn't be right.
Relationships: Xabi Alonso/Jamie Carragher
Series: football. — ideas. [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1733986
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	your possessiveness is alarming.

**Author's Note:**

> I am absolutely projecting my want onto Jamie but that's showbiz baby!!!
> 
> warnings: possessive behaviour, unrequited love (that's not really a trigger but it is a warning in case you thought this was a love story).

_he comes with steven_ , you realise, they come as a matching pair and you've been replaced. it used to be you and steven, tied at the ankle, attached at the hip. but, it's not anymore. it's him instead, and you find yourself slipping into the third wheel of the trio, and you don't mind.

you don't mind sitting back and watching, they make an interesting pair, anyone could see that but they don't get to touch, they don't get to be involved. 

steven is hyper, dedicated, young. he's captain of liverpool, he is liverpool to the core and then some more. he's tight, controlled with a level of innocence to keep him fresh. he's got dark hair and even darker eyebrows with a delicate nose and a permanent scowl. he is xabi's. 

xabi is calm, collected to the point of coming off emotionless, but he's got a shimmer of hope glittering him. he's tanned with auburn hair that curls around his ears and gets in his eyes. he's polished off with decades of knowledge and a slight lisp. he is steven's. 

you don't fit with them, but they still link arms with you as though you are teenage girls sharing gossip as you walk the halls of school. it makes you feel grounded, needed. 

football is about bodies, it's about what can be done with them, how they can fit together and work as one movement and achieve a goal, all as one, with a heart and a soul and blood coursing through its vains. there are no boundaries, none that can be broken or imposed on, none that can cause problems.

xabi and steven have no boundaries, constantly touching and never apart. they work as though they are one. they work with you and its as though only two are really there, _you_ and **them**. 

you become the third wheel but you don't mind, they are glittering and shinning and they still give you blinding smiles and that's more than the others get so you'll take it and grip onto it until it's ripped out of your hands.

* * *

"I hate this shirt." he says. you nod and look down at his shirt, it's a plain black shirt that stretches around his shoulders and ends an inch shorter than any other shirt would, letting you see a sliver of tanned skin. 

"then, put on a different one." steven says from his seat in front of the television, he hasn't even looked away from it to see the shirt in question. 

xabi nods, you all seem to have picked up that habit of nodding instead of actually saying anything, and it doesn't communicate anything because steven isn't even looking to see the nod. but still, xabi nods and he doesn't hum or anything, just nods. 

you look up at the television, it's playing some rerun of a show that you've forgotten the name of but you are certain your mother loves it, you remember seeing it around the house but the name is coming up blank. 

"can I borrow a shirt?" xabi asks you. he doesn't bother asking steven who is now fully imerged in the soap opera drama that is happening on the screen. 

"yeah, sure." you answer, tongue feeling heavy. you motion to your suitcase. he knows you pack heavy for travel, packing seven or eight shirts for a two night stay, that type of thing. he makes his way over and unzips the case after a bit of struggle, the bloody thing packed tight. 

he looks through the clothing before pulling out a white shirt. it's plain enough but it has _JC_ embroidered on the chest, where a crest would be if it was a jersey, and xabi runs the tip of his finger over it before nodding. he doesn't try to zip the back shut, already aware of the fact he'd lose that battle

he takes off his shirt and slips on the new one, when you look up you realise he's got the opposite problems. the shirt is too big around the shoulders and it's too long but he just tucks it into his jeans and adjusts the shoulders. you look away when he looks at you and he smiles to himself.

you can tell when he sits down on the bed because the bed has dipped low at the corner but he's so light that he basically weighs the same as a book resting on a bed.

you find yourself sitting up and curling your fingers around short hairs at the base of his neck.

"your hair is getting long." you say after a moments silence.

you remove your fingers and he gets up to sit next to stevie. you already miss the dip in the bed but he's still in the room so that's more than enough.

* * *

his fingers grib harshly onto your hair, and he pulls with a smile when you groan at the pain. he let's the hairs slip from his hand and then you turn to look at him from where you are laying on the grass, his hair is shorter and darker than you remember.

"when did you get your hair done?" you ask, you realise you sound like a husband trying to get on his wife's good side but you push that thought away.

"recently. I did it myself. do you like it?" he asks running a hand through his newly chopped hair.

"you've changed a lot, xabs." you say instead of answering. his smile drops for a quick second, letting you see the hurt of your words before a fake smile takes place of the frown.

" _whatever_ , you're just jealous that my hair isn't going grey." he whispers, and you laugh at the joke even though it wasn't funny. the fake smile instantly forgotten. 

the sun is harsh and the back of your neck is sweaty but he looks like he's glistening, shinny and glowing in the heat, like he was made for it. he's spanish, so of course he was made for it. 

you tug him to lay on top of you and his skin burns to touch, but he's comfortable and he blocks out the rays of sun so he squirms around for a minute before finding a position and then you can feel the rise and fall of his chest and you can hear the whistles in the back from where the rest of the squad are practicing. 

his fingers play with the strands of hair that fall on your forehead. his touch burns. 

* * *

he swings open the door of your hotel room and dumps his bag on the floor, just by the door and he closes it with his foot while he tugs off his jacket. you raise an eyebrow at him before turning back to watch the television. _I_ _really lucked out by getting a TV_ , you muse to yourself. 

"what are you watching?" he asks. he toes off his shoes, getting awfully comfortable for someone who isn't rooming with you but warmth spreads through your chest when you see him in his baggy shorts and oversized jumper, all team crested and branded. 

"coronation street." you answer. 

he nods, sitting down next to you on the bed and he tosses his leg and arm on you, half on top of you and you curl your hand to hike his leg higher up. his nimble fingers play with your ear for a minute before he speaks again. 

"what's it about?" 

"just people's lives."

"like a documentary?" his breath is hot on your neck and his voice is soft. you can't help but drop into a whisper when you speak, not wanting to hurt his delicate ears. 

"it's filmed like a documentary but it's not, I guess."

he takes that answer and stops talking. the episode finishes and your arm is numb under his head, you aren't bothered to disturb him so you just let the next thing play, some documentary about something in germany, nothing you care too much about. 

he's quiet and his breath burns your neck and his fingers are knotted in your shirt and his skin is warm under your fingers and you want so badly to just kiss him but he's not your's and you've had to stop yourself before so you can stop yourself again. 

* * *

somehow through stevie, xabi became your responsibility. it became your job to take care of him, to correct his english, to answer his questions. when stevie's busy he pulls you tight and whispers an aggressive ' _take care of him for me, yeah?_ ' but it's not a question and you nod. you grip onto xabi's wrist and make him walk next to you, he does without complaint. somehow, he became your's.

you are sure that's the last thing steven wants, to lose xabi to you. but, it's happening and none of you can stop it.

xabi smiles at steven and hold his hand but he's always linking fingers with you.

he isn't steven's anymore, he's shared between you. and maybe that's what makes it worse, he could be your's, you could have him. you could have him. if steven let you.

* * *

he jumps on you, wrapping his long skinny legs around your waist and curling his boyish arms around your neck. he presses his face into your shoulder and you grab him by the thighs to keep him up, you can feel his smile against your skin. celebrating, that's all you are doing, because you can't let it be anything else, you can't take him from stevie, it wouldn't be right.

you can feel the hope and the happiness buzzing off him and its hard to not feel what he feels, especially when he's wrapped around you, pressing his feelings into your skin. 

his legs are skinny and long and wrap around your waist like they were made to.

he smells of sunscreen and sweat. he smells of istanbul and the happiness you felt. he smells of the kiss you try to forget. 

•

the after party is eventful, loud and overall exhausting to be apart of which is why when xabi is almost sick with how drunk he is, you offer to take him to his room and to take care of him. none of the lads complain, happy to let someone else do it. 

"Stay with me." his voice is whiney and his mouth forms a pout. not at all gentlemanly, but you don't mind, in fact you find it utterly adorable. his boney fingers wrap around your wrist and you know he's drunk, you know he just misses stevie, but you let yourself be pulled into his embrace and you let yourself settle into a comfortable position. you let yourself love him.

_you aren't mine, you don't belong to me_ , you can't help but think but his lips are sinful and you can't tear yourself away from him fast enough and he's smiling, all toothy and boyish, and your heart hurts looking at him. he isn't your's and you know that but why does he have to make it so difficult.

he falls asleep quickly but you can still feel a phantom of his lips and it leaves you tingling.

* * *

you can feel xabi's ribcage if you press down hard enough, and you do, press your fingers into the plump flesh and keep going until he lets out a whine, pushing at your shoulders to stop. 

_JC_ , your initials. he wore them once and he's been your's since. 

**Author's Note:**

> I know no one will read this because no one ships carralonso but I will risk it for my own personal gratification.


End file.
